The Dying of the Light
by bring 'em out
Summary: Life—it's like a lit match. Bright one moment, snuffed out the next. It can be protected from the wind, prolonging the flame—fighting for its life. Set pre-book. Johnny's POV.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: We do not own _The Outsiders_ by S.E. Hinton, nor do we own 'Do No Go Gentle into that Good Night' by Dylan Thomas

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**The Dying of the Light: Chapter One**

I struck a match and watched it flicker. Two seconds ago it was a dull stick of wood with a red tip. Now it gave off a brilliant light against the dark sky as I brought it to my cigarette and inhaled. The smoke burned my throat, but the taste made up for it. I held the match out between my fingers, slightly amused by the way the flame ate up the wood—slow but fast at the same time—and watched as the wind snuffed it out as it got closer to my fingers. It kind of reminded me of life, bright one moment, gone the next, and no one could care less because, hell, it was just a match, right? Except no one ever takes into account how much a match does in its short life—the lighting of a cigarette, the warmth of its flame, and the light that illuminates an inch of the darkness that surrounds it.

I struck up another match, simply to watch it die again. It was fascinating how the light managed to shine so bright in its small surrounding. Beyond the small radius of light, I spotted Pony.

"What're you doin', Johnny?" he asked me, with a perplexed look on his face.

"Have you ever noticed the way a match burns? Slowly yet quickly."

"Are you gonna let that burn down to your fingertips or what?" Pony asked. "You already lit a cigarette."

"Sorry... It's just interesting. I never noticed it before."

He shrugged, and I pushed myself off the wall. We fell into step with each other quietly, walking side by side, me with a cigarette in my mouth and he kicking a lone stone down the street. It was already starting to get darker and cooler, the sure sign that school was starting up again. And it was… tomorrow. I dreaded it, being that I was repeating the same grade as last year.

"So I've been reading…" Pony started suddenly, breaking our silence as we approached one of the side streets.

I took a drag of my cigarette and followed the glowing embers on the end of it as I exhaled. "You're always reading."

"Yeah, but this guy's pretty tuff. There's this one poem of his… It's called 'Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night'."

I took another drag of my cigarette and again followed the glowing embers with my eyes. "What's it about?"

"Basically life and death... I guess," Pony replied. "Want me to recite it for you?"

"Wait... You have it memorized?"

"I've been reading it nonstop ever since I first saw it. You'll see why once you hear it," he assured me, confident in his answer. No wonder he skipped a grade. The kid could remember everything he'd ever read!

"Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light," he began off the top of his head. Dying of the light, huh? It reminded me of the match I had lit a moment prior. Rage. Rage seemed out of place though...

"…And you, my father, there on the sad height,  Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.  Do not go gentle into that good night.  Rage, rage against the dying of the light," he finished.

I took one last drag on my cigarette, and flicked the butt away, following the embers with my eyes as they died on the ground. Dying of the light, I mused, and looked at Ponyboy. He had that dreamy look on his face, the same one he got every time he was thinking over something he'd read.

"Hey, Pony, what'd the guy mean with the 'rage, rage' stuff?"

He shrugged. "We shouldn't give into death, I guess. I'm still figuring Dylan Thomas out. He sure is a tuff writer though."

I kicked stone and shrugged. "I guess," I said, but I didn't really think so. Why fight it? Why fight death? Like the match burning up, it was inevitable.

"So you like it?" Pony asked, earnestly.

"Sure, Pony..." I half-lied. "It's different." I really didn't know what I thought of the poem. The idea seemed pointless though. How does one fight death anyway? It's bound to happen to even the toughest of people. So why try?

"I liked it because it was different too..." Pony remarked, one step ahead of me on the path. "It makes you think." I had to give him that. I may not have agreed with it but it did make me think.

"Yeah."

"We're in the same homeroom this year, you know," Pony said, and I couldn't help but notice the hint of excitement in it.

"Yeah, I know." I wasn't thrilled. It wasn't that I minded being in the same homeroom as him, or that we'd be in some of the same general classes together, it was that I was repeating ninth grade again and the teachers looked at me like I was dumb already. I didn't want to sit through another year of being looked down on.

"What classes you have again?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. The schedule's back in my room, man. What classes do you have?"

"Uh... I'm in all A classes except for history because they don't have one for that."

Way to rub it in, Pony. It wasn't his fault he was smart though.

"You got a weed, Johnny?" he asked. We were by his house now, and it was completely dark out. That meant he'd have to be home soon unless he wanted a lecture from his parents about curfews. I've heard it from Mr. Curtis before; it ain't fun to sit through as fun as he can be.

I tossed my pack at him, and he pulled one out, lighting up. Sodapop was on the opposite side of the street and he ran across to join us. "Hey," he greeted, grinning. "Last night of freedom good for ya'll?"

I shrugged, and Pony pulled a face. "Aw, school ain't that bad, Soda."

Soda chuckled. "Whatever you say, Pony." He jogged up the porch steps and opened the door before turning back. "See ya around, Johnny."

I nodded a good-bye. "Later."

"Well I guess I'll see you in homeroom then? We'll compare schedules," Pony said in an upbeat tone.

"Yeah, Pony. See ya." I walked the last block to my house alone, shuffling my feet as I went. Lord knows I never liked going home.

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A/N: Well, how'd we do with Johnny's POV? We'd love some feedback on how we're doing seeing as Johnny's one hard guy to write. And as always, constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms. :)

-whatcoloristhesky and shutupandwrite


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Well it's officially been forever since our last update. Many apologies. We'd ramble off excuses, but it really comes down to this is what happens when two procrastinators co-write.**

**Hinton owns all. Enjoy!**

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I shrugged on my jean jacket and jerked my head to the side to get my hair out my eyes. My parents were both sitting at the table with their coffee mugs in front of them, not saying a thing or looking all that happy. I grabbed a glass, poured it full of milk and drank it.

My dad pushed his chair back, and scratched his chest, looking at me. "Haven't you ever heard of a haircut, boy?"

My mother looked at me. "He could stand to wash that damn grease out of his hair too," she muttered.

Sometimes it was best to just not say anything, so I nodded and walked past my father.

He slapped me upside the head, and I heard him mutter, "ungrateful little . . ." as I walked through the living room and out the front door.

Sometimes I hated my parents. Sometimes I hated them as bad as Dallas Winston hated, but then there would always be the moments that always changed my mind. Like when I came home and there was a meal on the table for dinner, and no one was fighting or hollerin'. I liked that. It was like we were normal; it was like the bruise on my cheek from the previous week was from a fight with a Soc and not with my dad; it was like I only got hollered at for actually doing something wrong.

Dallas told me I was crazy for going back every day. Hell, I believed him at times, too. Maybe I _was_ crazy for going back, for loving them—for wanting their approval. Most people labeled me a dumb greaser so maybe I actually was—am—whatever.

I kicked a pebble into the street. The first day of school had always been pointless, and I'd never wanted to give up summer for it, but this year was worse. I'd have a repeat of the same teachers, and not just the ones that teach multiple grades either. Needless to say, I wasn't looking forward to it as much as Pony was.

When I reached his house and he walked out to greet me, I could see the excitement in his face.

"You have your schedule, right?" he asked anxiously. "It'd be great if we had classes together." Damn. My schedule hadn't even crossed my mind this morning. It was still sitting on my dresser, and it was too late to go back and get it now

The only class I remembered was my homeroom, and I'd never forget who the teacher was. I unfortunately had her last year and she was the ugliest thing I'd ever seen. Her looks really fit her personality, too. One thing was for sure: she'd never let me live down the fact I was being held back a year.

"I forgot it," I said, hoping he wouldn't ask anything more.

"Do you remember it?"

"All I remember is homeroom with Mrs. Pute," I replied, hoping he didn't have the displeasure of being in her homeroom too.

"Me too!" I cocked an eyebrow at him, shocked at how much like a girl he sounded in saying that. I mean I knew he was excited, but I wasn't expecting him to squeal about it.

Suddenly he got red in the face, embarrassed by his giddy response, I guess. He must've read my mind when he saw my eyebrow go up. "So what time do you have lunch?" he asked, trying to change the subject as quickly as he possibly could.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and grinned. "Same as you and everybody else."

He looked at the ground, his ears burning red. I knew he was just trying to change the subject, but I couldn't help it. Sometimes he could have the most hairbrained comments. I didn't rag on him too much though; I understood what it felt like to say something before you thought about it. It was what I did in class. Usually the teacher didn't call on me, but when I was called on, I gave the first answer to come to mind and usually caused the whole class to laugh at my stupidity.

A car honked as it drove past us, and I noticed it was Two-Bit's old junker when he made an abrupt turn into a street opening and turned around. He stopped in the middle of the street, diagonally, blocking traffic entirely. "Ya'll wanna ride? I'm droppin' off the munchkin at the same school."

I grinned as we walked towards the car. Janie's protests at her brother's choice of words could be heard over the honking coming from the cars that Two-Bit was blocking.

"Shotgun," Pony said as he opened the door and grinned at the face I must have made. Janie Mathews had developed a crush on me over the summer, and I had no idea why.

"Johnny," Janie said, as sweet as a twelve year old could while batting her eyes at me. "You can sit next to me." She smiled, and I tried not to cringe as I slid in the back seat next to her.

"Thanks."

Two-Bit hit the gas the moment Pony shut the door and we all slammed against the back of our seats, not expecting it. "Jesus, Two-Bit," Janie squealed, and happily fell against me as Two-Bit took a corner real fast in order to turn around.

Both he and Pony were getting a kick out of it, and if it weren't for the fact that Janie was falling against me purposefully at every turn, I would have told them both to shut up. I swear, the girl had to have been keeping count how many times I grabbed her hand out of reflex to steady her. Two-Bit only took one turn too sharp, and that was the first one. Every other turn was normal, and every other fall was completely her doing. By the time we got to school—late, no less, because Two-Bit likes taking detours—I'd heard it all from him about his sister. "Watch where you place those hands, kid," and, "What are your intentions with my sister?" and even, "Ya'll make an adorable couple."

Needless to say, I wanted to punch him. I stepped out of his car, walked over to the entrance of the school, and of course Janie followed close behind.

"Oh my," she said loudly, making sure I'd hear her. "It's so big!"

"Don't worry, I felt the same way," Pony said. "I'm sure Johnny'd be happy to show you around. He helped me out on my first day." He chuckled as he said this. At the mere mention of me helping her, Janie's face lit up. I didn't even want to know what she was thinking.

"Oh, that'd be so nice," she sighed purposefully. "I really need the help."

"Well then you better help her, huh, Johnny?" Pony could barely contain his laughter at this point. I was about ready to punch him too by the time we made it into the building.

"I've got a better idea, Pony," I said. "Why don't you show her around?"

"Oh no!" Janie cried out quickly. "I mean you've gone here longer. You must know the school better." Jesus Christ, even Two-Bit's kid sister knew I'd been held back. I felt real hot now. I snatched the schedule card out of her hand and read it.

"Your homeroom teacher is Mr. Jenson," I told her. "His classroom is the first one on the right on the second floor." Pony began to walk off and I immediately took the opportunity to flee with him.

"Wait!" Janie screamed. "I don't know where the stairs are!" I rolled my eyes and motioned for her to follow us. Mr. Jenson's room was on the way to Mrs. Pute's anyway. She intentionally walked as close to me as she possibly could, and I know she was taking every opportunity for physical contact. She clutched my hand, gasping at the person that ran past us, and I swear she tripped on the stairs so I would have to help her up. "Those stairs were steep," she giggled when we reached the top.

"There it is." I pointed to the classroom and shooed her away best I could.

She didn't take the hint for she leaned in and kissed my cheek. "I'm so glad to have someone like you here," she told me in the sweetest tone she could muster and skipped off to the classroom.

I glanced over at Pony who was having trouble breathing he was laughing so hard. "Wait 'til Two-Bit hears this," he said. "She couldn't be crushing on you harder if she tried." I didn't find it as funny as he did. The girl was gonna follow me around like a puppy for the rest of the year. I wanted to tell Pony off, but I figured the best response was no response, and I was right. The silence told Pony I wanted him to shut up, so he did.

We walked towards homeroom as the announcements kicked on. The whole school erupted in a chorus of The Pledge of Allegiance and then fell silent as the principal came on. And since the principal loved to hear himself talk, you better believe he was still talking about how summer was over and it was going to be a good year when we finally walked into Mrs. Pute's class.

Pony's ears were red as he walked to one of the last seats in the classroom and I took the only other one available—front row, center, right in front of Mrs. Pute's desk. I groaned inwardly and was almost positive that there was a pink tinge to my cheeks as I sat down. Mrs. Pute was giving me the worst glare I'd ever gotten from her.

She didn't even bother with Ponyboy. "John, I know you didn't get lost."

I slunk into my seat. That wasn't even my name; my name was Johnny. It's on my birth certificate _and _my school records.

"You've been in this school for four years now, John," she continued, causing the class to erupt in whispers. "Don't you think you should know your way around by now? Don't you think you should _try_ to be on time?"

I wanted to tell her to get my damn name right and I wanted to tell her to shut up. But a detention on the first day of school isn't my idea of fun. A detention isn't my idea of fun, period. Sometimes I think it is in Two-Bit's eyes, though.

"Yeah," I mumbled instead. She didn't have to rub it in that I was repeating. Everyone else was doing that enough already—unintentionally, of course, but it still stung.

"John? Sit up. I will not tolerate slouchers in my homeroom." She turned to the rest of the class to say, "You understand that? I expect you awake in my homeroom." I hadn't moved. "John," she said, "sit up."

I looked at my hands and sat up. "My name's Johnny," I muttered.

She slapped a ruler against my desk. I remember Mrs. Curtis telling me last year that Mrs. Pute used to teach her when she was my age. She said that Mrs. Pute used to rap her knuckles good. "What was that, John?"

I looked at her. "My name is Johnny, not John," I told her. Usually, I just didn't bother with anyone, but she kept saying it. I vaguely wondered what Pony thought about it; he had a pretty set way of seeing things, including people.

She stuck her nose in the air. All it did was make her uglier. "Johnny is improper; John is much better."

That didn't mean it was my name though, and if I were Dallas, I would have hit her by now.

The only good that came out of the lateness was less time spent in her room, and I couldn't have been happier for homeroom to get over. The second we got out of the room Pony muttered under his breath, "What a bitch."

"Yeah," I said. "Can't even get my name right."

"If she thinks Johnny's improper, what does she think of Ponyboy?" He brought up a good point that further served as evidence for her hating me. She didn't give Pony any trouble about his name. Just me.

"So you better get a schedule, huh?" Pony insisted as we walked down the hallway. "The office probably has an extra." I could tell he still was anxious to see if we had classes together and since the office was on the way to his next class he followed along.

As it turned out, we had no classes beyond homeroom together. I honestly could have told him that. He was bound to be in the A classes as smart as he was, and I'd be in the low classes, but there wasn't harm in letting him hope.

I didn't see Pony again 'til lunch. He seemed to be enjoying his day seeing as he couldn't shut up about how much he liked his classes this year. I wished I could say mine were going half as well, but it seemed every class I walked into the teachers gave me funny looks. No one forgot I was repeating and they reminded me every chance they got.

I thought I'd catch a break at the end of the day with a study hall, but I was wrong. I walked into the room and saw my fate in the form of a twelve-year old girl.

"Johnny," Janie screeched in a tone higher than I thought possible. I took a seat in the back and pretended not to hear her.

"Yoo-hoo, Johnny!" she called motioning for me to come sit by her. "I saw your name on the roster and saved you a spot right next to me. Ain't I nice?" I could think of several other words to describe her and nice wasn't one of them.

"Go on, Johnnyboy. Sit with your girlfriend," I heard a member of Tim's gang shout. I ignored him and slouched into the back of the seat. Laughter erupted across the classroom and Mrs. Perry, the burnt out teacher, didn't care.

Janie got up and plopped herself in the seat next to me. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you liked the back better."

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Dallas was getting a kick out of my day. We were sitting on the Curtises' porch, smoking cigarettes while Ponyboy was inside with Sodapop doing something for Mrs. Curtis. Dal and I offered to help, but she shooed us out and told us she wouldn't keep them long.

"Man," Dallas said, a laugh still audible in his voice, "first fuckin' kiss and it's with Mathews' sister. That's fuckin' hilarious."

I shook my head and took a drag of my cigarette. I really didn't find it hilarious. The girl was just about dead gone over me, and while that was kind of flattering and all, she was overdoing it.

"It's bad enough I gotta repeat a year," I told him. "I don't need her going around acting like we're a couple or something."

"That's why I don't deal with that shit. If you took my advice, you wouldn't have to deal with that little girlfriend of yours. I told you to drop out."

I sighed. It did sound awful good at the moment. I wouldn't have to deal with people laughing at me and calling me stupid for staying behind a year. I could get a job and get out, and my parents wouldn't be able to call me a lowlife hood anymore.

Dally smirked as the screen door opened. "But you don't want to disappoint your little girlfriend, so maybe it's best that you do stay in school."

I looked up to see Sodapop grinning down at me. "You got a girlfriend, Johnny?"

Ponyboy laughed. "Yeah, and you'll never guess who."

Soda raised an eyebrow, looking confused. "You datin' a Soc or somethin'?"

Dally flicked his cigarette butt at him. "No, stupid, he ain't datin' a Soc."

"Well then who's he datin'?"

I ground my cigarette out on the heel of one of my tennis shoes. "I'm not dating anyone," I told them. Janie could think and hope what she wanted, I suppose, but I was _not_ dating her.

Pony laughed. "Tell that to her," he muttered, making Dallas smirk. Soda just looked confused.

Laughter could be heard down the street—Two-Bit and Steve were heading this way. "Johnnycakes!" Two-Bit yelled once he reached the gate. "Heard you and my sister kissed today."

I closed my eyes and hit my head against the porch railing as he and Steve walked through the gate and towards us.

I opened my eyes to see Sodapop grin. "_Janie's_ your girlfriend?"

Two-Bit nudged my arm jokingly, grinning widely as he winked. "You an' my sis are a couple now, huh?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Aw, Johnny, you don't got to be so embarrassed about it. My mom says Janie's growin' up. I don't see it, but apparently you do!"

Was everyone getting a kick out of this but me?

"I already told you about your hands an' where they should be on the way to school, kid," he continued, still grinning, making the other guys snicker.

That would be a yes.

"Get in her pants and I'll skin you." He added a laugh to the end of that one, and I almost wanted to laugh like the rest of them were, but then I realized he was being half serious when he said that.

"Believe me," I assured him, "I have no intentions of going there."

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